


Lost and Lonesome Bright

by windychimes



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Post-Game, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 12:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11714397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windychimes/pseuds/windychimes
Summary: Volfred and Oralech, in three parts.





	1. Chapter 1

The night air is cold and crisp and Volfred puffs away quietly on his pipe. The evening’s Rite was a difficult battle, just barely won, and he needs time to calm the tension from his shoulders and roots. The stars have faded to a dim, dreamy glow but he’s not tired, not quite yet. He should sleep; soon, dawn shall rise, and they shall start on their journey once more. It won’t be long until they arrive to Mount Alodiel. A deep pressure builds in his bark and Volfred chews the handle of his pipe to quell it. He’s always known what would happen. But now is not the time to dwell; now is the time to focus on the night. There’s something pleasing Volfred can’t quite name about this time, when the sun has not yet risen and the stars are faint and it’s as if the whole Downside is falling asleep. For a moment it’s like he’s not stranded in some barren hellscape, fighting for his right to return home; it’s as if tonight is another autumn night in the Commonwealth, quiet and cool and calm. It’s night like this that remind him why he does the Rites, pushes him forward. They’ll all be able to get home, some way or another.

The Blackwagon’s door opens and shuts with a soft ‘click.’ Volfred adds a pinch more tobacco to his pipe, doesn’t look over his shoulder towards the noise; there’s only one person who comes to sit outside with him at this time of night. 

‘It’s late,’ Oralech says, his voice too gentle to be properly chiding. ‘You should be sleeping.’

‘So I should,’ Volfred mumbles between puffs on his pipe. He doesn’t get up.

Oralech clucks his tongue and settles his large bulk down next to Volfred and they fall into their old positions, shoulder to shoulder. Volfred’s tightly clenched roots relax and unfurl, dig their way into the soft earth below them. The strain of the night’s Rites fade and their bodies soften, grow warm, mold to each other. Volfred passes Oralech the pipe wordlessly and they trade it back and forth like that for a while, silent as they watch night become day. The stars have faded and the first hints of sun are on the horizon, thin wisps of violet and gold trailing through the sky, a faint pink glow washing over them.

‘Too late to sleep now,’ Oralech sighs. Neither of them makes an effort to move.

‘I suppose so,’ Volfred agrees. He taps his pipe to the ground to empty the ash. ‘Should we go inside?’

Oralech presses his face to Volfred’s shoulder. ‘In a little,’ he says. ‘I…’ Oralech hesitates, works the words around his mouth. ‘I need this.’

Volfred wraps his arm around Oralech’s waist, his rooty fingers curling into Oralech’s clothes. The sun rises, a burst of yellow breaking through the paling night sky. They don’t move.


	2. In the Image of the Titans

_Must it be like this?_

The weather has, for the moment, let up, and Volfred and Oralech face each other in a clearing not far from the Blackwagon. Volfred only meant to go on a walk, clear his head and breathe, but instead Oralech found him. But Oralech was always one for dramatic entrances, though, wasn’t he.

‘You…’ Words that need not be said come and Volfred pauses, collects himself, says, ‘you don’t have to do this.’

‘You’ve grown taller,’ is what Volfred really wants to say, but that’s not appropriate for the situation. Oralech had always been on the tall side, but never at the near-unreasonable height of a Sap. But now he stands before Volfred, demonic and proud, eye-to-eye with him, in the image of the Titans. For a moment Volfred is consumed with the memory of bending down to kiss Oralech on his forehead but he quickly swallows the desire. That is a time long gone, a time to never enacted once more.

Oralech steps forward, so close they’re nearly touching. It’s an old intimidation tactic of his, one he’d use before Rites with particularly aggressive Triumvirates. But instead of intimidation there’s something electric, something that strums deep within the both of them. It’s so intense the urge to break away is almost too powerful for Volfred to overcome, but he stays steady.

‘You robbed me of my freedom,’ Oralech growls, voice dark like the storming skies. The weather is souring once more and the wind shrieks its way through the brittle trees surrounding them.

Volfred shakes his head, unable able to produce words for once. He inhales, exhales, tries again. ‘I was not a part of Erisa’s plan,’ he says. His voice does not waver. ‘She never told me what she was going to do.’

Volfred suspects not even she planned it, but now is not the time for that. Saying such would do little to assuage Oralech’s anger.

Oralech does not respond, not right away. His demonic eyes dig deep into Volfred’s own, but neither backs down. Perhaps many years ago, before the first Liberation Rite, before Erisa’s betrayal, back when things had been good, Volfred would step down. Volfred has always been a fighter, but he knows when to step back. But now he cannot; no matter how he feels for Oralech, the Plan is the most important part of all. Even still, the electricity builds and builds between them, takes the form of something they don’t dare name, and Volfred leans forward ever so slightly—

Oralech turns away with a grunt. ‘Tomorrow I will get my freedom,’ he growls, but it’s tired this time, quiet. Above them, rain drips down from the sky, slowly, then faster and faster. Oralech begins to walk away, but pauses to look over his shoulder. ‘Not you, nor your team of False Nightwings, shall be able to stop me.’

He leaves then, his footsteps heavy and steady, and disappears into thin, dying trees. Volfred stares after him for a long time, long after he’s gone. The wind howls and thrashes through the clearing, pulls at Volfred’s clothing with striking gusts. With a deep breath, Volfred shakes his head and heads back to the Blackwagon. For the first time since he first ascended Mount Alodiel, he’s not sure if he’s ready for what tomorrow brings.


	3. In the Breaking Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to crates on the sgg server for the title help

It is too late to be night but not quite early enough to be morning when Oralech finds Volfred, asleep in the library with a book over his face. The oil lamps have burned to barely glow; they light up just enough for Oralech to make out Volfred’s form and features. Volfred is draped over a chair, his roots unfurled, practically growing around it. Oralech smiles, just a little, and removes the book off from Volfred’s face. He doesn’t stir, so Oralech squeezes his shoulder gently until he wakes up.

‘I thought I’d find you here,’ Oralech tsks, his tone more amused than disapproving.

Volfred sits up, still not quite in the world of awake, and asks, ‘What times it?’

‘Late,’ Oralech says. ‘Or perhaps early. Regardless, you should be in bed.’

Volfred stretches out, his roots going taught then relaxing, then shifts them to a more leg-like shape and stands. ‘And why are you awake at this hour?’ he asks, his lips pulled back into a wry grin.

‘Research,’ is all Oralech says. Ever since he returned the Commonwealth, he’s been studying the effects of demonism and the disappearance once topside. Jodariel is his top research subject, followed shortly by himself; she hadn’t been in the Downside as long as he, and the effects of demonism are reversing more quickly. Oralech’s own recovery has been slow, but still his horns are starting to recede and his complexion is regaining its color. Perhaps one day he shall be back to normal, although when, if ever, is difficult to tell.

‘Don’t overwork yourself,’ Volfred chides, and his tone isn’t as light as he means it to be. And then, softer, he adds, ‘I’m not ready to lose you quite yet.’

Oralech sighs and pulls Volfred into a tired hug. ‘Hush now. It’ll be long ere that happens.’

He should tell Volfred to go to bed, or lead him to bed himself, but he doesn’t break the hug, not yet. Through the library’s massive window he can see the sun beginning to crawl up the horizon, the deep blue-black of the night lightening to a near-sapphire blue. The very last of the stars are fading and only the brightest ones remain, ever so dimly. Oralech strokes Volfred’s back and holds him up as Volfred’s weight settles into his bones, Volfred’s face pressed to the crook of his neck. Small, vibrant red flowers bloom beneath Volfred’s shirt collar, fragrant and earthy.

‘Sometimes…’ Volfred starts, his voice slow like honey, ‘I can scarcely believe the Plan worked. That I can be here, in a library, without worry.’  
Oralech looks out over the library, the shelves of the large dark bookcases overstuffed with hundreds of books, each book painstakingly sorted and ordered by the librarians and Volfred himself. 

‘Did you ever have doubt?’ he asks.

Volfred’s roots curl around one of Oralech’s legs of their own accord and pull him closer. Volfred is silent a long moment, face still buried in Oralech’s neck. ‘…In the beginning,’ he finally answers. ‘It was precarious. Finding the right individuals, making it through the Rites, measuring abilities… it made sleeping difficult some nights.’

A quietness rises from them, a silence deep like the canyons in the Downside. Before coming back to the Commonwealth, before changing it to the Sahrian Union, before that first attempted liberation at Mount Alodiel, they would spend evenings together like this, staring out into the desecrated and cursed earth of the Downside, silent, shoulder-to-shoulder. Then, it was bittersweet, but now there’s a peace to it, something soothing and warm. It’s a feeling Oralech that is still growing used to, something he tries not to focus on for too long in fear of overusing it.

Around them, the library slowly illuminates as librarians relight the lamps. The librarians disappear as soon as they came, quiet as they can; Oralech and Volfred have had more than one moment like this in the library, and the librarians dare not disturb them.

Finally, Volfred hums into Oralech’s skin, steadies himself, and slips from Oralech’s embrace. His roots withdraw and shape back to legs and he takes Oralech’s hand in his own, interlocks their fingers. ‘It’s a little late for bed,’ he says. ‘Would you like to read with me?’

Oralech squeezes Volfred’s hand, kisses his forehead. ‘I would. With what shall we start? You may choose.’

Volfred kisses Oralech’s cheek in return. ‘I shall show you my favorites, then.’

Volfred leads Oralech to a corner of the library where all the books are weathered and worn, read enough that the edges have softened and the titles have begun to rub off the spines. Volfred takes down the most worn of all, the title completely faded and the pages near falling out.

‘It is the one book I was able to save,’ Volfred says, smiling in a way that almost hurts, and Oralech swallows the urge to kiss it away. He cannot erase Volfred’s pain; he must let him recover on his own, as Volfred has let him recover from his. ‘I found it when I was young, and just beginning my journey of reading. It’s about the mythology of Harps.’

They head to a small couch near the bookcase and settle in together. They take turns reading aloud, their fingers still interlocked; Oralech still has trouble with some of the words but he’s improving quickly, and Volfred guides him over pronunciation and meaning. As the light from the library’s window grows brighter, Oralech and Volfred find themselves giving into their drowsiness. By the time daylight has truly broken they’ve fallen asleep, tangled in each other’s arms, Volfred’s roots wrapping and curling around Oralech and holding him close. Hours later, Oralech awakens, but he doesn’t wake Volfred, not quite yet. When Volfred sleeps, all the pensiveness and hidden thoughts slip from his face and instead he looks relaxed, content, finally at peace. Oralech closes his eyes again and nuzzles his face into Volfred’s neck, inhales his earthy scent, exhales; his body says to get up but his mind says to stay, so Oralech settles on simply holding Volfred and listening to his even breathing. They have things to do, but there’s time for that later. For now, they’ll allow themselves to rest and finally enjoy all that’s been done.


End file.
